


Marked But Whole

by AndiiErestor



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Can be read as ship or not, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, TRSB2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26207941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndiiErestor/pseuds/AndiiErestor
Summary: The Gates of Summer have been celebrated intermittently in Imladris since Elrond became its leader. People from all of Middle-Earth gather to celebrate the arrival of the longest and warmest days of the year, but for some it is less a celebration of the sun than a reminder of what they've lost.Glorfindel is returned from the halls of the dead, but not unaffected from his past. He still bears the marks of his loss, both physically and psychologically. He struggles to be better. He will be better....
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel, but also Erestor&Glorfindel
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	Marked But Whole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oldestcharm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldestcharm/gifts).



His reflection stared back at him in the mirror, paler than he’d ever seen himself before, though he knew it must reflect how he’d felt as he’d faced the beast of his nightmares for the first time, and every time ever since. _Although_ , he didn’t think to rush to a mirror first thing when he woke in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat, panting for breath, with tears in his eyes that could not put out the fire in his mind, surrounding him, pulling him off the cliff and burning, burning, _burning_ …

The marks he could stand to look at now, though there was a time he’d wretch at the simple sight of them. He’d let his hair turn to a knotted mess and cut it – though long ago now – and tried to dye it but that had led only to confusion and a strange level of disrespect from folks wondering if he’d picked the name himself – not understanding what it meant – or hinting at how his parents were not of sound mind, and wondering what _else_ might be wrong with him.

So despite the nightmares and the awed staring and the _touching_ – Eru above, _the touching_ would never end – he resigned himself to leaving his hair down. At least, he’d noticed, that when his hair was loose, the shape of the stains was indiscernible, and made it seem simply like he’d gotten oil or tar or dirt of some kind in it, which was received with laughs and smiles and fond shakes of his people’s heads, asking what he’d gotten himself into and if perhaps someone had put coloured dye into his hair products, or even if he’d fallen asleep in a blueberry patch. Of course, none would dare to guess or even joke at the possibility that the ashes from his campfire might’ve blown into his hair before he’d returned home – _no one_ would mention such a thing, for it would be considered in bad taste.

They would never know – could never understand…

How it felt to sit in the hall of _fire_ during dinner, to freeze in fear as his plate was deposited before him and the smell of even slightly overcooked food reached his nose: _burnt_ , to feel his breath choke and leave his lungs as a small child added coloured paper or spruce or spices to the fires causing them to _smoke_ into the room, to nearly fall out of his seat in shock as the night wore on and drunken elves began to tip over in their chairs like the _clap_ of _lightning_ and laugh like the _roaring_ of _thunder_. They would never understand what it was like to have their every step haunted by the memory of their death.

No one would understand… Except for _him_.

He understood, for he was there. He _too_ suffered the heat and the smoke and the _fear_ – the unknowing of the fall of their once great, hidden city. He who had stayed away so as to not push him away, who had not looked at him twice as he’d walked through the gates of Imladris upon his arrival but instead found lord Elrond and brought him to greet the weary traveller. He who had not sought to make friends with him or to fawn over him the moment he’d settled in. Glorfindel was infinitely grateful for him, though he struggled to find the words to say so whenever he tried.

They often found each other in the gardens at night or in the library or in any manner of quiet place away from the world, though quite by accident, when the nightmares got the better of them. The source of them the same, though the details differed, still: their loved ones died, their city fell, and all was lost.

To bond over such a thing might seem to most morbid and uncouth, but to them it felt the most natural thing, for after all, they had little in common in those early days.

Their first meeting in the gardens seemed a dream – one of very few peaceful dreams Glorfindel seemed to have at the time – under the light of the moon, sung to rest by the wind in the leaves of the trees, surrounded by the scent of freshly bloomed flowers. It was one that Glorfindel remembered well.

\---

As he’d wandered from his rooms almost in a trance, with fear and weakness and grief nipping at his heels, he’d found his way to the resting place of the lord of the valley’s chief advisor. The elf sat there, with his back against a tree, resting between its roots in a way that seemed to almost cradle his form.

Upon hearing his footfalls, the elf had looked up and at first, Glorfindel thought the elf might remain utterly silent, or ask him to leave, but understanding softened the corners of his eyes, and the elf simply slid to the side and offered Glorfindel a seat beside himself with a nod.

“I am Erestor,” he’d said, “I am sorry for your loss.”

Glorfindel tilted his head in curiosity, and frowned at the mysterious elf, “I’m not sure I understand.”

“I have walked by your rooms at night, when sleep evades me, and heard that your dreams torment you as mine often do. I have seen you flinch at the sound of raucous laughter and noticed you cringe as the taste of charred meat fills your mouth,” the elf spoke, “and though I saw none of these while trying to, I remember a time when words would not come easily to me for the taste of fresh air in my mouth felt like drowning at sea, and the feeling of sitting before a warm fire at night felt as though I was caught within it.”

Nodding as he finally understood, Glorfindel came forth and finally joined the elf in his nook on the ground, “You were there, then?”

“Aye,” dark eyes closed and his head tilted back against the sturdy trunk of the tree behind him, “I was there, and I was the only of my people to escape, though I thought I would not, and I saw –” Erestor turned to Glorfindel with eyes a deepest pool of mossy blue, filled with sorrow and regret, his voice cutting off as he shook his head, willing the words to come out. “I _saw_ … I remember.”

Glorfindel shut his eyes and bowed his head, mourning for a moment, and accepting what he thought the elf might mean.

“I mean not that any memory might compare, of course,” Erestor was quick to amend, “only that, well…”

The sudden candor from this sullen, quiet elf was a welcoming balm in comparison to most who sought only the lord of the golden flower of old, with little to no regard for the broken, dun-haired elf of the second age, returned too soon – far too quickly.

“Your honesty is refreshing, counsellor,” Glorfindel said, “though I must admit I have been selfish in assuming that none but myself suffer in this time. There is yet much that I must understand of the world, for I have not lived in it for many years now, and its ways are foreign to me.”

“Indeed, even for one such as myself who has never been much of a warrior, the peace of this valley often has me feeling as though some evil lurks in every shadow waiting to strike us down.”

Glorfindel nodded, “Yes, I feel the same. I crave the silence but for the sound of the wind through the trees and the river’s fall, though once I have found it, I fear that I will never again find such a thing for I find myself clenching my teeth and tensing for battle against naught but my own shadow.”

They sat then, in silence for a very long time, until the false dawn was nearly upon them, both content to remain as such for their words could not compare to the depth of _emotion_ they shared by simply being in each other’s presence.

When Erestor finally stood, he turned to offer Glorfindel a hand, helping him to his feet again and with a polite nod of his head, began to walk away.

\---

All this, Glorfindel remembered, for it was the first time on these new shores that he had felt both welcomed, and at peace – for such a thing he had naively sought and nearly given up hope of finding, ever since his return.

Now, as he prepared for the festival, one he had not attended in longer than he could recall, for he had feared to partake, he braided his hair. Such a thing, he had not done, either, since his return, for ever as he brought the brush to his scalp or began to twist the strands together did the movements cause him pain. A simple tug at the strands was enough to bring him to his knees.

Such was easily avoided during training by tying a simple ribbon in a bow on his head to hold the mass of golden waves from his face, but never had he tried to do more than that, for fear that his men would think him lacking. Unfounded and wrong, Erestor had called those thoughts, but the fear remained all the same. This was no scar as any elf might see it. This was no cut or gash or bleeding wound, it was a mark on his soul, which tore at him still and reminded him not only of his mortality but of his own failures.

“You’re doing it again,” Erestor’s voice came to him from the doorway, “I can tell.”

Glorfindel sighed and nodded solemnly, “You know I cannot help it these days.”

“Mm,” the dark elf approached and took the braid within his own hands, “and yet I wish only that you would be able to lay your demons to rest for they haunt you needlessly when their power over you faded long ago.”

“I have tried, you know this.”

“Indeed, and I have been at your side every step of the way,” to which Glorfindel nodded again, “and you know I will remain so until such time as you no longer wish it.”

“I could never,” Glorfindel spoke softly. “Yours is the only touch I would welcome to do this.”

“Mm.”

\---

“Your hair is in knots again,” Erestor said, before walking directly into Glorfindel, who had frozen at the words.

They nearly fell with the weight of the impact, but thankfully Erestor caught them both.

Glorfindel turned to him then, a beaming smile on his lips, to thank him, but stopped short. Erestor was not smiling. He was not fondly reprimanding him as some of the old, motherly types tended to do as he returned from his trips to the borders of their lands.

No, Erestor was far away. There was a shadow on his face – in the depths of his eyes that was reflected only by the dark stains in his own hair. What did this dark elf know that Glorfindel had not the words to say?

“Do you not have a brush?” he finally asked.

“I do,” Glorfindel admitted.

And it seemed simple as that to understand, for Erestor asked no further questions and went on his way, wishing him instead a good evening and a warm bath to soothe the aches of sleeping on tree roots for several weeks.

It was only two days later, when he re-emerged from his rooms that Glorfindel found a vial of oil caringly placed on the ground near his door, on a sealed envelope, baring the mark of the house of Elrond.

The gift was brought inside and the note opened with gentle hands to reveal the familiar scrawl of Erestor:

_Glorfindel,_

_I hope you will find this oil helpful in easing the process of untangling your hair. Such waves are a menace I have suffered as well. If you should require more, feel free to inquire to myself or Elrond, for he was the one to prepare this for me._

_Yours,_

_Erestor_

And further enclosed, a letter from their lord, detailing some of the ingredients as well as the benefits of using such a product in his hair, but more importantly, once again…

No questions were asked. No assumptions past the obvious were made, though he began to suspect that Erestor perhaps understood more than he let on.

That morning, before returning to his own office, he returned to his mirror and sat for innumerable minutes, until he could bring himself to uncap the vial and empty its contents on his head. Gently, he massaged the liquid into the strands and did somewhat manage to pull some of the knots apart without incident, though it left his hair on the whole looking rather wet, and feeling uncomfortably sticky.

So he resolved to bathe once more, before returning to work, and promised himself to seek out the lord’s chief advisor to inquire about the oil after dinner that evening.

\---

“You forgot the oil,” Erestor commented as he held the braid in his hands. “Have you forgotten how to use it?”

Glorfindel shook his head, pulling the braid from the other’s hands, “No, I simply did not think it necessary given that I was going to brush it.”

“You’re right, of course,” Erestor nodded to himself as he reached for Glorfindel’s hair again as it had begun to unwind itself. “And of course such products were not all the rage _back in your day_ , so I understand the confusion.” Glorfindel laughed. “However, the product is of use even if you mean to brush it. It will keep your hair soft and prevent it from tangling within its bonds.”

“Insulting my age will earn you no favours,” Glorfindel said with a grin, “Though I see the point you make. I shall make sure to use it next time I bathe but my hair is dry now and to tarry much longer would mean arriving late to lord Elrond’s beginning speech.”

“You do remember how to use it, of course?”

Glorfindel settled and nodded, catching Erestor’s eyes in the mirror, “Aye my friend, I remember. How could I forget when you were so kind to show me?”

Erestor smiled.

\---

Shocked eyes had followed Glorfindel all day as he’d opted for a fashion seen only in the most remote villages of men to hold up his hair for the day, and had been subsequently distracted for the whole of the day.

With the cloth still covering his hair and the knot tied tightly atop his head, Glorfindel made his way to Erestor’s office, hoping to catch him before the other elf retired for the evening. Only for him to gape at the sight before him – Glorfindel with a bright orange head-scarf holding his hair up, and keeping most of it hidden from sight.

“Wha-“

“I believe I may have misused the oil.”

Erestor tilted his head with intrigue, standing from his desk and wiping his hands on a cloth to remove any ink stains, stretching his back, and coming closer to Glorfindel, “Well then, let me see.”

Glorfindel eyed him momentarily, ascertaining that Erestor would come no closer, before untying the knot and removing the scarf, only for Erestor to promptly clutch his stomach and nearly fall to his knees with laughter, instead catching his weight on the back of a chair, wheezing and panting and gasping for breath as he laughed.

Blue eyes darted back and forth nervously as Glorfindel noted the lack of noise in the library just on the other side of Erestor’s door, and hoped that none would think to investigate. Indeed, none came forth but the counsellor himself.

“Dear Glorfindel,” Erestor wiped a tear from the corner of his eye at the sight of Glorfindel’s oiled, wet hair, hanging in sopping clumps around his shoulders and back. “That bottle should have lasted _weeks_.” Erestor laughed again, “I really should have included instructions…”

“We…” Glorfindel hesitated before gathering up his hair gently and pulling it up again with the scarf. “We used much smaller bottles in the first age, and much more diluted oil.”

“Aye, I should have recalled. My apologies. Thankfully, this can be fixed quickly.”

“I hope I am not pulling you away from your work if I ask for your help?”

“Oh no, I was simply trying to think of what I might have planned for tomorrow, but that can wait until morning.” Erestor assured him and checked that Glorfindel’s hair was tied in place again before stepping over to the door and pulling it open, “I think perhaps your rooms would be best suited to the task, however.”

Glorfindel nodded silently and led the way. Welcoming Erestor to his home and showing him around quickly before turning to the darker elf with an expectant look on his face.

“Ah yes, well,” Erestor pointed to the private bath, “You’ll need to wash most of it out.”

Glorfindel’s eyes widened at the waste, pink colouring his cheeks in shame. “I a-“

“There is no need to apologize. It is not a particularly expensive oil, only very good to detangling. It will be no trouble to fetch more.”

“Right,” Glorfindel nodded, “I’ll uh…”

“Mhm,” Erestor glanced about the sitting room and spied a balcony hidden behind dark curtains. “May I wait for you on the balcony?”

“Of course,” Glorfindel brightened, “Please help yourself. There are a few chairs out there but I’m not certain they are clean. My apologies.”

A smile and a nod and Erestor was off to wait for the golden elf. He occupied his time with shaking dust off the pillows on the outdoor chairs, and turning plants to face the sun, and lighting a few candles along the railing with a stray box of matches.

Soon enough, though it was getting late as he did so, Glorfindel emerged wearing loose pants and holding a similarly loose linen shirt in his hands.

“I wasn’t certain if I should wear this in case it ended up like the last one.”

Erestor shook his head, “No I don’t think that will be a problem, but it is late and you may wish to rest after this, so it is best you simple make yourself comfortable.”

Glorfindel agreed and asked how they might proceed.

“I was hoping we might be able to brush out your curls and then I will show you the proper way of using the oil?”

Glorfindel stared at the mere suggestion, “We?”

“I believe that, part of the issue with hair such as yours is that it may tangle as you brush the other side of it, which unfortunately would contradict the goal we are trying to achieve here,” Erestor stood firm, but calm. “I understand your apprehension, which is why I asked we do this here, where you have access to your own tools, and where I can – if you will let me – observe, before helping you to complete this task.”

Glorfindel stood silently, feeling entirely too naked under the counsellor’s gaze, “I will grant you this, but my friend, I must ask that you be more gentle than when holding a newborn babe, for truly I think you underestimate the fragility of what you ask.”

“I will do my utmost,” Erestor spoke solemnly, “This I swear to you.”

Glorfindel sighed and turned back to his bedroom to fetch the mostly-empty bottle of oil and the comb and hair brush he’d been using since his return. “Shall we do this here?” He asked Erestor who was still outside.

“I believe you would be more comfortable on one of these reclining chairs,” he stepped briefly through the door to search for furs or a blanket, “Though you may want to bring something to make yourself comfortable, I believe this may take a while.”

He took a pillow from the bed, and an old quilt from the futon in the sitting room and brought them out with him before settling on the chair and placing everything before him. Glorfindel turned to Erestor, who offered an affirmative nod, and began slowly combing out his hair.

Erestor watched for a moment, then slowly reached out to take Glorfindel’s hand to stop him, “I believe I understand now, you may sit back.”

And sit back Glorfindel did, placing the pillow on the edge of the chair’s back, throwing the length of his hair over it, and wrapping himself up in the quilt as instructed. He clenched his fists within it until he realized that he really had nothing to fear, for Erestor was so gentle he could barely feel the tug of the comb.

“Is this well enough?” Erestor asked, and Glorfindel hummed in response. With a smile to himself, Erestor continued and soon Glorfindel felt he might fall asleep from the pleasant tingle in his scalp and the soft humming of the elf behind him as he worked, if not for him stopping.

Erestor placed the comb in Glorfindel’s lap next to the unused brush and took from him the bottle of oil instead. Glorfindel startled to awareness and sank back in his seat at the sight, wondering what Erestor might possibly do next.

“Now that the knots have been removed, I can show you how to use this,” he sat next to Glorfindel’s legs momentarily, uncapping the bottle and pouring what little oil was left at the bottom onto his hands, before recapping the bottle and rubbing his hands together.

“This oil is meant to be used in small quantities only. If your hands feel _wet_ when you pour it, you have poured too much. Then, you massage the oil into the tips of your hair – frequently the driest – and into your scalp. If I may…?”

Weary once again, Glorfindel agreed all the same and Erestor stood once again behind him, first rubbing the tips of Glorfindel’s hair between his palms, then slowly and all while instructing him as to where his hands were, Erestor pressed his hands against Glorfindel’s head, simply holding it to acclimate him to the touch as one might a wild horse to the presence of an elf. Then, he pulled away and returned to slide his fingers between the strands, rubbing the oil only very lightly into the golden elf’s scalp, and paying special attention not to pull at any of it.

This continued on for some time as Erestor lost himself in the task and Glorfindel nearly fell asleep once more in the comfort of his chair, having sunk down a bit more to curl well more into the blanket he’d brought out.

\---

“Aye, but do you recall how many elves believed the trick to having such wonderful hair as yours was to wrap their hair in a scarf?” Erestor chuckled below his breath and shook his head in fond disbelief, “Such silly things we are…”

Arm in arm, with Erestor patting Glorfindel’s hand in reassurance, the two ancient elves headed out of Glorfindel’s rooms towards the market that had been turned into festival grounds for the celebration. As they walked through the rapidly emptying halls of the last homely house, elves gaped in awe before them and parted like the gaping cracks in the grinding ice to let them through.

Erestor glared, though he understood their awe - of course he did - for Glorfindel hadn’t simply dressed for the occasion, he’d done it with the intent of defeating his demons for good, so he’d commissioned his garb to reflect as such, in order to participate in the games.

No, Erestor understood well that seeing Glorfindel in this gleaming armour was a once-in-a-lifetime sight for the youngest generation, and a grim reminder of the ancient world and all their losses for the elders.

Glorfindel, for his part, was tense as could be. Adrenaline coursed through his veins like fire, keeping him hyper vigilant and aware of everything around him. If someone stepped too loudly, his head would turn, wide-eyed to the source.

To anyone else he might appear simply ready to do battle, as was expected of him during the games, but Erestor knew better. Glorfindel did not walk like this. He did not anticipate battle but let it wash over him like a river whenever he encountered it. He never looked forward to a fight, no matter its purpose.

“Are you well?” Erestor asked the question though he knew Glorfindel’s only options were to ignore the question or to lie, and remain quiet he did. “Can I help in any way?”

Glorfindel shook his head, his long braid swinging out behind him, catching the eye of several elves and causing loud gasps of horror as _finally_ some of them began to understand. Glorfindel had left the halls of the dead, yes, but part of that would always remain with him, for the marks upon his hair were more than just dirt. They were reminders of all that he’d sacrificed for his people, for despite their admiration, most frequently forgot.

_Glorfindel_ , his name was whispered.

_Laurefindel_ , others.

And everywhere he went, echoes of _the golden flower_ followed.

As they crested the hill Erestor’s hand on Glorfindel’s arm tightened in warning. Having attended the festival at Elrond’s side since its conception, he knew what kind of crowd awaited them, but the warning could not convey the sheer size of the gathering, of peoples from all peoples of Middle-Earth.

Glorfindel smiled, though the picture of it seemed wrong somehow, like the smile was too big for his face, and perhaps it was for how small he felt compared to all those present.

Slowly, and with everyone turning to them and towering forth like sunflowers towards the sun, blocking their path and slowing their march forward as though wading through stormy seas. Getting through the crowd to reach Elrond’s side felt an endless impossible task, but they made it.

Having reached him finally, Glorfindel and Erestor took their places on his left, with the lord’s wife and sons on his right.

“Welcome!” Elrond exclaimed – turning to the crowd – and the masses quieted down finally.

“Welcome to all of you who have travelled so far to attend, and to the people of Imladris who have toiled long and hard to make this event as grand as it is,” Elrond paused for effect and the crowd burst into momentary cheers and applause.

Glorfindel gasped and widened his stance just-so, as though expecting an assault.

“In these times when we have much to celebrate, it is our deepest wish – my family and I,” Elrond gestured to his family, “that you all enjoy yourselves to the fullest. Oft we forget, how fleeting a moment can be, and dwell too long in the past, that we do not see the light that is before us.” Elrond paused again, but the crowd remained silent, contemplating his words. “Let this celebration remind us that there is much for us to take joy in, and let us share in it together.”

The crowd cheered and clapped again, some even going so far as to jump up and down for joy. Thunderous laughter sounded to his left, and shouts of happiness from his right. Drums in the rear somewhere he could not identify, and the shrill sound of flutes and horns. Glorfindel stood frozen, caught in a trance as his mind replayed the sounds over images his _eyes_ did not see, but his mind.

_No. Not again. Escape. Run. Fight! Flee!_

What was the correct thing to do? Glorfindel knew not, but Erestor did. Erestor always did.

The elf stood before him slightly, enough so as to hide Glorfindel from view, and in such a way as to look like he’d simply stepped to the side to give Elrond more space, or to turn to talk to him, or to speak to the folk in the crowd. This allowed Glorfindel just enough time to step back and away from the stage upon which Elrond had made his speech.

He had tried. Surely that was enough? Surely Elrond wouldn’t hold him to such weak promises as he’d made lifetimes ago when the three of them had discussed his interest in joining the celebrations after all these years.

Just when he thought to ask, Elrond stepped closer, but turned his back as Erestor had done, and Glorfindel understood, gratefully, that he was being dismissed. He ducked his head and stepped into the shadows of the trees between some of the tents behind them before walking away as quickly as he could without being detected, or attracting attention should he be spotted.

\---

The gardens had long been Glorfindel’s favourite place to find comfort, so it was an easy thing to find him when Elrond could pull himself away from the events long enough to do so. Erestor had wished to follow, but the lord had assured him that it would not be necessary – that his help would be preferred if he stayed with the lady of the valley to ensure her safety, and a decent perimeter around her pregnant belly.

Aye, Elrond really was too protective of the child, Erestor had said, and this he knew and readily agreed, but insisted the elf remain behind.

As Elrond stepped lightly over the warm grass to the grove Erestor had told him about, he spotted a head of golden hair, reclining against a tree, eyes shut and face to the sun.

“It is no real wonder the people compare you to sunflowers, dear Glorfindel,” Elrond chuckled, “The way you turn to the sun for warmth is rather reminiscent of them.”

Glorfindel opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the weariness from the brightness of the sun’s rays and squinted to find Elrond standing before him.

“May I help you, my lord?”

“I believe the question is, may I help you?”

Glorfindel sighed and dropped his head to his chest, pulling his legs up – knees nearly to his chest, though trying to remain open. “I must apologize for my shameful behaviour, Elrond. It was not my intention to turn tail and run as I did, but-“

“I understand, Glorfindel,” Elrond spoke gently, “You forget that though I live yet, I have seen war and what it makes of both elves and men. It is not uncommon, and though I must commend you for your efforts in facing it, I believe you may be going about it the wrong way.”

“How so?”

“You wish to face the issue head-on, but that is not a monster you will find in Imladris, my friend.”

Glorfindel gasped.

“The monsters in your head may need a more gentle hand than the one you intend to deal them,” Elrond knelt before him and placed a hand on his knee. “You owe neither myself nor the people of Imladris your life, Glorfindel. You have already given all that you had for my family, I would not see you fall to ruin once more.”

Tears welled in the golden warriors eyes and he nodded silently.

“I think perhaps we ought to have some tea brought to your rooms where you can have a quiet afternoon and some peaceful contemplation. I believe that will do you a world better than this charade we’ve put you through today. What say you?”

With a huff and a smile, Glorfindel agreed and took the hand Elrond held out to help him up with. “Now, I need your advice on a matter of utmost political importance. You see, my wife has proposed that our child might be a lady and – of course this is nonsense, of course it will be a boy – she has decided that for the child’s bedroom….”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please visit oldestcharm on tumblr for more of their work, and for the full-size artwork as well. <3
> 
> Note: Depictions of Glorfindel's reactions to noise stimulus are not based on research but on personal experience. PTSD is different for everyone. I didn't want to go too deep into it as to cause this to turn into something too heavy to be enjoyable, however, if that is something anyone would be interested in exploring, feel free to let me know in the reviews and I might write another short fic going more into it.


End file.
